


Kaer Morhen Automotive Repairs (or, Lil' Bleats' Chop Shop)

by rawrkinjd



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Cock Piercing, Double Penetration, Eskel Has a Big Dick (The Witcher), Explicit Sexual Content, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Tattoos & Piercings, Lambert Has Self-Esteem Issues (The Witcher), M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/pseuds/rawrkinjd
Summary: “Why does he have to open it between jobs?” Lambert grumbled quietly to Eskel in the breakroom, glaring down into the tepid depths of the filter coffee in his hands. It was difficult to not stare when Geralt waltzed into the breakroom with his overalls open to the belly button. His entire torso was a work of fucking art. Literally, in all ways. Lambert had to stop himself staring at the tattoos, because that inevitably led to staring at the rest; the amazing fucking chest, the ripped abdominals.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 94
Kudos: 298
Collections: The Modern Witcher AU Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert’s been nursing a crush on the garage’s very own pretty boy, with his piercings, tattoos and body to die for. But, you know, pining’s for losers, and it’s not until Geralt offers to help him with a bad back that Lambert realises the interest is very much returned.
> 
> A/N: I've rather fallen in love with this AU again, and I wanted to keep all my little one-shots in one place. There's going to be some gradual world-building, and round_robin came up with the brilliant idea that this is set in the same universe as the Cheshire Cat, which it now totally is. More characters will appear as time goes on, and I'll add important tags too.
> 
> [Geralt](https://twitter.com/Sayuri527art/status/1286232618762145792?s=20) and [Jaskier](https://twitter.com/Sayuri527art/status/1286375777248870402?s=20) in this are based on Sayuri's brilliant [art.](https://twitter.com/Sayuri527art/status/1289204403409313792?s=20) Go and give her some love and appreciation! She absolutely deserves it.

“Why does he have to open it between jobs?” Lambert grumbled quietly to Eskel in the breakroom, glaring down into the tepid depths of the filter coffee in his hands. It was difficult to not stare when Geralt waltzed into the breakroom with his overalls open to the belly button. His entire torso was a work of fucking art. Literally, in all ways. Lambert had to stop himself staring at the tattoos, because that inevitably led to staring at the rest; the amazing fucking chest, the ripped abdominals.

_Fucking pretty boy asshole thought he was above everyone, and—_

The sexual attraction had started slowly. It wasn’t instant. Never was with Lambert, fuck if he knew why. But _everything_ about Geralt was Lambert’s type, right down to his snarky attitude when customers were idiots and the easy manner in which he floated through life, apparently giving zero fucks about anything. Granted, Geralt was a bit more subtle than Lambert, who wasn’t above calling them fucking idiots to their face and swore loudly and often that he didn’t care about shit. There was one snag though. Geralt was very much taken. He even had the guy’s name tattooed around his neck: ‘ _Jaskier_ ’.

And no, Lambert didn’t fucking pine. _Pining was for losers_.

“The workshop gets hot,” Eskel replied, brow furrowed as he squinted at the crossword in front of him. The newspaper pages crackled as he pressed the pen down. “Nineteen across; figure who may inflame aching back. Eros.”

“Well, Eros can fuck off, because mine’s still killing.” Lambert stretched, coffee mug abandoned, and winced when the muscles in his back twinged. Four days ago, an old Volvo had slipped off the jack and Lambert got yanked to the floor with it. At the time, it felt like every muscle in his back had torn, but after a hot bath and a day off he was back to mobility. Still hurt like all fuck though.

“I told you, you need to go to a physio.” Eskel checked his watch and then folded his newspaper. Break was over. “We’ve got all the paperwork in order. The company’ll cover it.”

“And have a strange pervy asshole run his hands all over me? Yeah, great, sounds fucking amazing.”

“Suit yourself,” Eskel sighed and flicked his hand in farewell as he returned to the garage floor. Five minutes of silence passed as Lambert continued to roll his shoulders and pick over his pasta salad. The breakroom door opened, and a familiar, white-haired Adonis ambled in with a thermos and a wrapped ham sandwich.

“Afternoon.” Geralt jutted his chin in greeting and fell into the sofa. Predictably, the buttons on his overalls came open and he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. The curve of his pec accentuated by a fold of blue fabric, Lambert tried not to stare at the peak of his nipple as a button rolled across it and – “Eskel said your back’s still hurting.”

“Uh,” Lambert cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. S’nothing.”

“I could give you a massage,” Geralt said flippantly, and Lambert _didn’t_ just accidentally snort coffee like it was crack off a hooker’s tit. “I used to be a PT. Part of the service.”

 _PT_. Made sense with a physique like that. Lambert was pretty proud of his own build, but Geralt took it to a whole new level and Eskel… well, Eskel would make an MMA wrestler look petite. That was just a fact of life at this point. “Yeah, no, it’s… that’d be weird, right? No.”

There was also the horrifying certainty that the moment Geralt touched him he’d get a boner, and it wouldn’t be a half chubby either. It’d be a full-blown erection with tears.

“Hmm,” Geralt shrugged, “offer’s there. It’ll make you feel a hundred times better.”

“Yeah, right. Uh, I’ve got a Karen booked in next, so I’m—.” Lambert walked out quickly, because even the thought of—oh fuck, you know what? Fuck it all. Geralt was probably taking the piss, because he did that kind of shit. For the rest of the day, Lambert was in a foul mood. The ‘Karen’ in question was just as obnoxious and obtuse as he expected and Eskel had to come over and defuse the situation before they throttled each other.

His back got worse somehow, until he had to spend at least ten minutes in each hour hunched over the bonnet of a car breathing deeply—but not too deeply because it fucking hurt. One evening he even went as far as to google some physios, but the pretentious flare of their websites and the niggling dislike of strangers touching him put him off straight away.

_But it hurt so fucking much._

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and one breaktime Lambert approached Geralt. It was just the two of them—Eskel took his day off on Mondays when the bookings were quietest—so the embarrassment probability was in Lambert’s favour. “Hey, Geralt,” he started smoothly. “You know you offered a, uh, a back massage a week ago, you know, for the injury. The offer still on the table, or—?”

“Sure.” Geralt put his sandwich aside and rolled up to his feet. Lambert definitely didn’t catch a glance of the huge swell at the front of his boxers revealed when his open overall gaped. “Give me a sec’.”

“Wait, what?” Lambert’s eyes widened as Geralt disappeared briefly into the locker room and then came out with a bottle of fucking massage oil. “What the fuck—?”

“I knew you were in a lot of pain and would probably ask at some point.”

“But… here?”

“It’s just us,” Geralt shrugged, “no bookings for an hour and a half and we never get walk-ins on a Monday.”

The blush rose up Lambert’s chest and neck, cresting at the very tips of his ears. “And the oil, that’s—uh, why?”

“Needed. Trust me,” Geralt flopped back down onto the sofa, shuffled right back, thighs spread, and tapped the space between them, “shirt off, come sit. It’ll soak in after about twenty minutes and you’re good to go.”

Every circuit in Lambert’s brain misfired, sparks flying around behind his eyes, but his fucking feet moved of their own accord. He undid his overall and tugged his t-shirt over his head—because those with an ounce of decorum wore fucking t-shirts, Geralt—and tried to ignore the definite appraisal being levied at his chest before he turned. “You know, if this is—uh, if this is like too weird, we can— _ahh!_ ” Lambert sat bolt upright as slick thumbs pushed into his thoracolumbar fascia; the long muscle in his lower back. “Oh, _ahh_ …” He bit down on his lip as Geralt pushed through the tension and— _oh, fuck it was good and it had only just started._

“You’ve got good posture, but you hold yourself rigid all the time,” Geralt murmured, his breath hot on the back of Lambert’s neck, “carry a lot of tension. You should’ve probably been visiting a physio even before the car fell on you.”

“It didn’t fall on m— _mmm._ ” Lambert was melting. Geralt’s thumbs worked in wide, deep circles. He followed the line of Lambert’s spine at first, paying close attention to areas that made Lambert hiss and gasp. He only paused occasionally to top up the oil on his hands and in those moments Lambert’s mind rediscovered some brief clarity; this was good, _too good._ And it was far more intimate than it really should be. Lambert could smell Geralt’s cologne, clean sweat and something that just—

_Oh no._

Brown eyes dropped quickly to his own lap, his cock swelling down the leg of his coveralls. Geralt’s hands chose that moment to sweep around his obliques, his chin propped on Lambert’s shoulder. “Hmm, well, thank fuck.”

“What?” Lambert’s voice was the right pitch. _He didn’t fucking squeak._

“You’re interested, I was a bit worried I’d been misreading.” Geralt rested a hand on Lambert’s stomach, his other still sweeping a gentle thumb over his trapezius.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I like you. Wanted to hook up,” Geralt said, matter-of-factly, “but you’re not the traditional flirting type. Thought you were probably demi’ too.”

Lambert’s mind was doing cartwheels while simultaneously failing to focus on anything but the steadying hand on his stomach. “Wait, wait one fucking minute, you’re—you have a—I’ve seen him.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt grinned as Lambert twisted to look at him and was happy to note his captive hedgehog hadn’t scarpered for cover. “We’re in an open relationship. He also likes to share now and then if the partner’s up for it.”

“An open relationship,” Lambert’s brow set, scowling, “you think I was born yesterday? What, we fuck, then we keep it as our dirty little secret, ‘cause why does he need to know about us? Yeah, fuck off, Geralt. You’re a sleazy asshole, you’re—why are you on your fucking phone?”

“Calling Jaskier.”

“What?” Lambert squawked and now tried to stand up, but Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him to his chest—his bare, warm, muscular, amazing fucking chest—and Lambert was momentarily stunned. The ‘phone call’ was, in fact, FaceTime. Jaskier, blue-eyed, foppish-haired, picked up and beamed through the handset.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” he chirped, and those enchanting cornflower blues flickered to Lambert next, “ahh, I see you’ve caught your prize.”

Lambert’s mouth opened and closed dumbly. All his wit and sarcasm just fucked right off, apparently leaking out the end of his cock with the precome soaking through the leg of his coveralls.

“He thinks I’m trying to cheat on you,” Geralt said smoothly. “Thinks I’m sleazy.”

Was that a fucking pout? The piercings just made it look criminally salacious. Jaskier chuckled. “How very noble,” he paused. “Don’t worry, Lambert. I can confirm I’m not being cheated on and, in fact, am very suppportive of Geralt’s choice in this case.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, we’ve been sleeping with Eskel for years,” Jaskier leaned back in his chair; the general chatter of the office continued behind him; he worked in the music industry or something; all Lambert knew was that he drove expensive cars and he really enjoyed working on them when they rolled in, “but I was hoping to complete the set.”

They’d been sleeping with Eskel for years. And the asshole didn’t think to mention that in passing? Actually, it kind of made sense; Eskel was a private man. He didn’t really like discussing his personal life, was generally quiet. _But still what the actual fuckity-fuck?_

“Well, boys. Have fun. Some of us can’t spend all day oggling handsome men,” Jaskier sighed ruefully, “I’ll see you tonight, wolf.” With a mischievous wink, Jaskier ended the call and Geralt chucked his iPhone onto the sofa before leaning back. His hands pulled away and Lambert felt their loss acutely.

“Well?”

“What the fuck am I meant to say, Geralt? I—,” Lambert rubbed his eyes and glanced at his lap; it wasn’t going down. “You knew, you knew I was eyeing you up and you said nothing.”

“Eskel said you were sensitive, didn’t want to scare you off. Was waiting for the right moment, right technique.”

 _Eskel was going to get a punch in the fucking face_. “Right. So, you know, offering to massage my back… perfectly normal technique, is it?”

“Not really. You’re not normal though. Needed special treatment.”

“Is that—are you flirting with me now?”

“Mm, maybe a little, you’ve got a nice back,” Geralt lifted a hand slowly and ran his finger down Lambert’s spine; the reaction was immediate and Lambert sat up straight, “and a pretty nice everything else. Want to see it all in a bit more detail.”

Lambert stared into those blue eyes in disbelief. His skin still glistened with the massage oil and… fuck, yeah, his back felt a lot better. Probably because all the tension was now in his groin. And Geralt was his type - the tattoos, the piercings, the attitude - and it was just a hook up, right? The emotional risk wasn’t there. Not really. _You know, it could be—_ “Yeah, alright.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grinned; a wry quirk of the lips that made him look far too roguish. He didn’t speak again, but one of those skilled hands pressed over his thigh and gripped Lambert’s cock through the material of his overall. “Can I take care of this for you?”

In that single moment, Lambert, whose breath had just all left his chest, wanted nothing more than whatever Geralt was offering. His mind didn’t register where he was, or really what ‘take care of this for you’ entailed. Not until he was being crowded into the locker room and his overalls were being tugged all the way off. Geralt shed his too, allowing it to slide down his muscular thighs along with— _oh fuck, it was huge_. Pierced lips teased over Lambert’s chest, inquisitive tongue circling his nipples, mischievous teeth returning to nip at his neck. Geralt was tasting him; he was being consumed and _fuck_ if that didn’t set him on fire.

“Are we—? Is this—?” Lambert’s cock twitched needily as Geralt freed it from the confines of his boxers, big hand sliding down its length with an expert grip that made Lambert weak at the knees. _Yes, yes they were._ Geralt’s prick was magnificent. Flushed and red, it had a piercing through the very tip and two along the top of the shaft. It throbbed, and leaked, and Lambert wanted it in his mouth more than he wanted oxygen, but Geralt clearly had other ideas.

“Desperate for you, can’t wait, want you now,” Geralt whispered, and then their lips were joined and Lambert felt the trepidation melt away. The kiss was deep, accented with the cold metal of his piercings; oh fuck, he had one in his tongue, of course he did. Lambert whined as Geralt palmed his balls and caressed his taint, adding the very slightest graze of blunt nails that made Lambert’s insides dissolve. The oil hadn’t joined them in the locker room and Geralt pulled away only long enough to drench both his hands in something water-based from his locker.

Lambert leaned over the bench in the middle of the lockers as guided, legs spread, hands braced. A firm grip pumped his cock while two fingers circled his hole; Geralt sat on the bench behind him, treated to a full view of everything. Apparently he liked what he saw, because Lambert could hear his breath hitch with a soft moan of appreciation, his thumb caressing over Lambert’s balls.

“Oh, oh, fuck,” Lambert’s back arched as one finger pushed inside; tight furl clenching around the intrusion before his body relaxed. Geralt moved it in and out, slowly at first, clearly mystified by the eager squeeze of Lambert’s hole. “Eskel… could sack us for this.” Lambert gasped, his head dropping between his shoulders, hanging down to watch Geralt’s hand work over his cock while his other fucked a second finger into him.

“I’ve had Eskel over this bench at least five times,” Geralt rumbled, crooking his fingers gently. “You look just as pretty as he does.”

“Don’t call me—oh, _oh_.” Lambert gasped as Geralt found his sweet spot, massaging with unapologetic precision until his newest lover shook. The third finger pushed in slowly, met with a little resistance. “Ahh, take it—easy, it’s been—hmm, a while.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re going to feel so great,” Geralt purred, clearly excited by the prospect of a tight hole, keen to be fucked after so long. “Your ass is something else.”

“Huh, thanks,” Lambert’s eyes slid closed as Geralt continued to finger him oh-so-slowly; it was so fucking sensual, the way he slipped them in and then dragged them out in fluid motions, pressing and circling sometimes. Lambert would come from this if it continued. “Going to put that beast in me?”

“Hmm,” Geralt drew his hands— _fucking amazing hands_ —away and left the bench. Lambert heard the crackle of foil as Geralt pulled a condom from his locker and watched over his shoulder as it stretched over Geralt’s impressive girth. “Don’t worry. Piercings won’t split it.” He doused his shaft in astroglide and then straddled the bench. Lambert could feel the weight of his eyes admiring his ass even as that huge, round head pressed against his slick rim. The catch of the piercing sent sparks up his spine, and then Geralt split him wide open on his cock and Lambert’s mind fell to pieces.

“Oh my—fuck, _nngh_ ,” he gasped, strong hands on his hips keeping him steady as Geralt pressed in. It went on forever. Each successive inch stretching Lambert anew; his body shook, his fingers squeezed the edge of the bench. “ _Geralt._ ”

“You’re doing well, just relax,” said a gentle voice; far gentler than Geralt’s usual drawl and Lambert surrendered himself completely. Geralt’s hips moved, thick cock dragging in and out at an achingly slow pace at first. Lambert could feel it all; the ridges of metal embedded in his cock, the throb and pulse of arousal, and _fuck_ the angle was just perfect.

“Geralt, Geralt, fuck, _fuck_ yeah,” he moaned, thrusting himself back, eager for more pace. His wish was granted moments later when Geralt snapped forward and shoved deep; Lambert dropped his chest to present deeper access, and his eyes rolled back as Geralt thrust harder, faster. The slap of skin only paused when Geralt stopped briefly to top up the lube on his cock, pushing in slowy again, caressing Lambert’s stretched rim with his thumb. “Nngh.” From that point on, the pace was relentless; the glorious, swift drag of Geralt’s cock the centre of Lambert’s world. Geralt stroked his back, gripped his hair, pulled him back; purred praise—how good Lambert felt, how much Geralt had wanted to fuck him like this for so long, spread open and wet—and Lambert could do nothing but whimper and moan in response.

He could feel Geralt’s heavy balls against his when Geralt ground in a slow figure of eight, burying himself deep, and Lambert came hard. It washed over him in a tidal wave of heat that wiped the vision from his eyes. His cock leapt against his stomach as it spurted a mess over the smooth surface of the bench. Geralt kept pounding into him through it, and Lambert sobbed through moans of ecstasy. The moment Geralt finally came, huge cock swelling hard, balls pulling tight, Lambert whined. _Oh, he wanted it dripping out of him…_

Geralt flipped him over and pushed him down in his own spunk, but Lambert didn’t care, because Geralt could fucking kiss. His tongue and lips demanded, and Lambert gave all he had, hands clutching at Geralt’s muscular chest, his narrow waist, agile hips. Holding, feeling.

It wasn’t the last time Geralt fucked Lambert at work. He had him against the wall, on the bench, on the sofa in the break room and Eskel walked in, only to smirk and suggest he’d join in next time. Then they started… dating. Jaskier was there, with his intelligent blue eyes and floppy hair. They joked, flirted and teased. Geralt and Jaskier had an easy love; there were no secrets, no hang ups; Geralt presented Lambert to Jaskier proudly, and Jaskier crooned his appreciation. They never made him feel like a third wheel, and Geralt’s arm always wrapped his shoulders or his waist, occasionally kisses edged in silver pressed to his neck.

And when Lambert ended up in their bed, pressed between them, spread open beneath their hands; his body their plaything, their words of praise his lifeline, he knew he’d hit the fucking jackpot. _Literally_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert's been dating both Geralt and Jaskier for a year now. They treat him with tenderness and respect, even at his prickliest, but their hunger for him sometimes boils over and he finds it impossible to resist. Lambert just wishes Geralt wasn't constantly horny at work.

The garage smelt of spilt oil, sweat and baking upholstery. It was the height of summer and it hadn’t rained now for two weeks. All the windows were opened as far as they’d go, with the huge doors wide even when the shop floor was completely empty. The pavements were parched, and the plants outside reception that Eskel had tried so valiantly to keep alive wilted pathetically in their earthenware pots. The air conditioning in the breakroom was the one saving grace but there had been an uptick of work. Old cars suffered in the heat about as much as in the cold, and suddenly KM Autos was flooded with broken cooling systems and corroded engines. 

Geralt knocked back the last few dregs of water wallowing in the bottom of his flimsy cup, clipboard braced against his stomach, as his eyes wandered over the workshop floor. Eskel was on a home visit. Some old girl whose car wouldn’t start and she needed to get to Sainsbury’s to do her weekly shop. Eskel would probably end up loading her into the truck and taking her there himself, and would spend the next few hours helping her decide between Romaine or gem lettuce. Those old Skodas didn’t revive well after a hiccup. That left Geralt and Lambert to hold the fort while he was gone.

There were no new appointments for the next two hours. They’d left some breathing room to tidy up a few long-term projects, namely the battered Ford Focus that needed a full engine replacement. Some people were just too attached to their motors. But there was something far more enticing beavering away on the shop floor that held Geralt’s attention. Lambert.

From his post by the office window, Geralt watched Lambert’s back flex as he stretched. Those lean muscles rippled beneath golden skin filmed in sweat and Geralt felt a surge of heat as he imagined the taste under his lips. Evidence of the night before was still on full display; the imprints of love bites on Lambert’s hip, the bruises on his neck where Jaskier had sucked in wanton abandon. Geralt pushed his tongue against his teeth, running the piercing along their edge as he weighed up the pros and cons of abandoning the manifest in his hands in favour of marking up Lambert a little more. The clipboard clattered on the workbench and he stalked his prey.

Rather than leap straight in, Geralt teased himself a little more. He wandered around the car lifts and toolboxes, one hand gripping the swelling length of his cock beneath his overalls while the other twirled the bar through his nipple. Geralt never wore his coveralls properly unless there was snow on the ground outside, and the tapestry of his tattoos, including the name emblazoned around his neck, often served as a talking point with even the most impatient customers. It also meant he wouldn’t have any undressing to do before he could feel Lambert against him. He remembered the brush of Lambert’s lips around the very same nipple, and then his mind replaced it with the feel of his back, wet and firm, pressed into Geralt’s chest.

Geralt rounded the side of the car, lips twitching into a smile as he observed the frown of concentration on Lambert’s face. “I told you I’d be finished when I’m finished. Someone’s clearly had a go themselves and butchered the fucking lot with a soldering iron, I - ,” Lambert didn’t get to finish, Geralt pushed up behind him, stroke hands on narrower hips and ground his hardened cock into the clothed cleft of his ass, “how are you always so horny?” Breathed as one hand slid up his chest, pushing the damp, dark hair upwards on its way to grasp his throat.

“I can’t control myself around you,” Geralt whispered against Lambert’s neck, tongue extending to draw the barbell slowly over Lambert’s hammering pulse, “you taste so good.” He ran his nose over Lambert’s hairline, nuzzled into his sweat-damp fuzz of his hair until all he could smell was his boyfriend’s musk, shampoo and cologne. Trapped against the car, Lambert couldn’t escape. His knees braced uncomfortably against the registration plate, he stayed arched into Geralt, felt the graze of his nipples and the brush of his cheshtair. “You wet for me, baby?”

“D-don’t call me that,” Lambert rasped, spreading his legs even as Geralt’s hand left his hip and pushed into his boxers, “not out… out here.” The last word cut off with a low moan as Geralt cupped him, clean palm pressing over his cockhead before drawing back to give his balls a light tug. “Geralt, someone could fuckin’ see.” He knew that was part of the fun. If Lambert had learned one thing in the year he’d been with Geralt and Jaskier, it was that they were exhibitionists when it came to sex. The amount of times he’d been pushed to climax in a club while sitting on Geralt’s lap didn’t quite bear thinking about.

“Here, or the locker room, your choice,” Geralt whispered into his neck, and then sucked the slope of his shoulder. He hadn’t stopped the lazy rock of his hips, teasing Lambert with what waited for him beneath the infuriatingly feeble divide of their clothes. Infuriating, because Lambert had wanted to get this job done, but now he was going to spread his legs for Geralt in whatever way he requested. Once Lambert fell, he fell hard. And Geralt, he - well, the bastard knew it.

“Alright, locker room - _mm,_ ” Lambert growled, and then arched as Geralt sucked over one of the dark bruises that marked Lambert as Jaskier’s, “what’re you going to do? Fuckin’ eat me?” 

“Maybe,” Geralt chuckled, and then grabbed Lambert by the elbow. His hands were smeared in grease, but that didn’t matter because Geralt fully intended to have them braced against the lockers and out of his way. They didn’t even bother pulling the shutters down. Geralt hauled Lambert into the break room, past the torn up old sofa and into the alcove. The metal doors rattled as Lambert’s chest collided with them, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the top. Geralt held him still by the hips and kissed slowly across his back. “You’re such a tease,” he growled, as if this whole thing had been Lambert’s intention.

“If I’d known electrics got you so hot under the coveralls, I’d have brought my ammeter home,” Lambert smirked, only for the expression to falter when Geralt bit the muscle that sloped down beneath his shoulder blade. It sent sparks of white hot pleasure straight down to his groin, and Lambert felt the tip of his cock push up against the cold metal of the locker. The air conditioning prickled across his skin, and he wasn’t sure whether the goose bumps were from the sweat evaporating or the feel of Geralt’s progress down his back. 

The worship was soft and sharp. He kissed and licked as much as he nipped, holding Lambert’s skin and muscle between his teeth as if he wanted to consume him, while even the gentlest kisses were accented by the press of metal piercings that stirred Lambert’s excitement even higher. The thick fabric of his overalls slipped down his thighs under Geralt’s hands, followed by the softer cotton of his boxers moments later. Lambert spared a glance over his shoulder to see Geralt on his knees, looking up at him with blue eyes, darkened with lust. 

Geralt felt intoxicated. Lambert tasted just as good as he always did; succulent, and needy. The way he wriggled, firm body writhing, excited something feral in Geralt’s chest that would only be sated with appropriate homage. He knelt at Lambert’s heels and brushed his nose across the curve of his ass cheek. They’d showered together that morning and he could still smell the soap in the pores of his skin. Lambert spent the whole thing bellyaching about the general fucking awfulness of mint shower gel and how it hurt his nipples, Jaskier chirping about how he was just too sensitive. Geralt smiled, tilting tilting to kiss the crease between ass and thigh, the tip of his tongue playing with the few wisps of dark hair on golden skin. “Want you to moan nice and loud for me, baby.”

 _“Geralt,”_ Lambert grunted, forehead thumping into the locker with a metallic rattle. The pet name made him feel all sorts of fucking weird. They’d clearly trained him to have some kind of pavlovian response though, because his dick just got harder and his knees weaker. His coveralls pooled around his ankles, prevented from coming off completely by the presence of steel toe-capped boots, but that did stop Geralt pushing his thighs apart to bury his face. Lambert arched at the first lap across the back of his sac, but Geralt’s grip held him firmly in place, thumbs spreading his ass.

Geralt kept his eyes open as his tongue drew over Lambert’s hole, delighting in the way it clenched. The glistening, muscular back marked with all his kisses and bites bunched and rippled too, displaying its strength and beauty for Geralt’s eyes only. Geralt teased the stud in his tongue around Lambert’s rim, coaxing out quiet, panting moans, before finally pushing the tip inside. That beautiful back bowed as Geralt fucked him in slow, deep licks, and Lambert’s thighs shook with the effort of staying still. 

“Geralt, _Geralt,_ fuck, _fuck_ ,” Lambert gasped, his cock leaking and neglected against the cold steel of the lockers. When the sweet torture ended, Geralt’s mouth drawing away with a parting nip to the soft skin of his inner thigh, Lambert let out a deep, calming sigh, only to be turned abruptly. Geralt stood and left only long enough to collect something from his bag. When Lambert saw it - a now very familiar tube of lubricant - he huffed, “I can’t believe you carry lube in your gym bag.”

“Well, firstly,” Geralt began, grabbing his shoulder to turn him abruptly, “my nipples chafe in my gym shirt.” The gym had a ‘no shirt, no service’ rule, much to Geralt’s irritation. “ And secondly, I always like to be prepared when my baby needs a service.”

“I’m not the one who’s horny on main,” Lambert scowled, teeth bared, as he watched Geralt shove his coveralls and boxers down. His cock popped free, head already glistening, the thick shaft beautifully adorned with its usual complement of studs. Lambert’s insides gave a little flutter as Geralt’s slick palm wrapped it, while the other cupped between his legs again. His body, so well-trained and receptive to Geralt’s touch, opened easily around the fingers that pushed inside. “oh, fuck.” 

They pressed in to the last knuckle, teasing him open only a little. Lambert enjoyed the pain-pleasure of the first penetration; the feeling his body yielding around the thickness of Geralt’s cock, forced to surrender as it pushed deeper. When Geralt drew back, he grabbed Lambert’s legs and bent his knees up, almost folding him in half, to expose his ass. Lambert grunted in surprise, one hand latching onto the lockers above his head, while the other hooked around the back of Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s prick was so hard, so eager, it didn’t need guiding to find Lambert’s hole. The fat head nudged into his slick, puffy rim, and Lambert clenched his teeth in excited anticipation. 

Geralt leaned in, the ring through the tip of his cock chill against Lambert’s flushed body, and slowly sank inside in one fluid thrust. Lambert arched, head pressed back as Geralt’s cock demanded his surrender. Strong hands cupped beneath his ass, taking his weight effortlessly even as his coveralls bunched back up to his knees, Geralt pressing in close with a soft groan of pleasure. “Mmph, fuck,” he whispered, eyes lidded, “tell me you want me.”

“Geralt,” Lambert choked out, barely able to breathe let alone muster works, “yeah, please… fuck me, please. Fuck. Don’t just - don’t just hold it there.”

“But you’re so tight and hot,” Geralt slurred mischievously, intoxicated by the smell of Lambert’s musk, the taste of him still thick on his tongue. He felt Lambert’s nails bite into his shoulder in desperation where his hand had slipped and smirked, before drawing out slowly. He watched the pleasure mist through Lambert’s eyes, knew the metal in his cock was teasing every nerve ending in the best way, and then thrust forward with a sharp snap of his hips. Lambert wailed desperately, body tightening, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Lambert liked it hard, and deep; he liked to be pounded until he was hoarse and his body shaking. He was so sensitive, so pliable, that he didn’t even need his cock touched to cum half the time. His body gripped and spasmed, his noises increasingly erratic and sweet, as he surrendered fully to the pleasure rolling through him. His moans, Geralt’s grunts and the wet slap of slick skin filled the locker. 

Lambert peaked first, his eyes flickering, the muscles of his stomach clenching as he covered them in a truly impressive amount of spend. Something about being speared open on your boyfriend’s cock at work, probably. A small voice - his own, muted in the haze of bliss - teased that this was definitely a kink now. There was no denying it.. He sobbed and moaned as Geralt fucked him through the ripples of aftershock, pounding his loosened hole with increased vigour, fingers tightening on his ass, his lower back aching with the effort of speed and pace. 

When he finally came with a snarl, Geralt shoved in deep and leaned forward until the only thing that kept Lambert off the ground was the press of his body and the cock inside him. Geralt latched onto the top of the locker and bit Lambert’s throat, leaving behind one last bruise to mark him on the outside even as he claimed him on the inside. “Geralt,” Lambert groaned, “I’m not meant to bend this way.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed, hands dropping to support again as he drew back, “don’t know, think you can arrange yourself quite well given the right motivation.” Geralt held Lambert up behind his knees as he slowly pulled his softening cock free. The gush of cum made him growl with pleasure, knowing that Lambert would feel it leaking down his cheeks before it dripped the floor appeased that feral beast. 

“Mmph,” Lambert pushed rebelliously against the grip on his legs, stretched hole clenching at the wet heat leaking out of it. “Put me down, you big oaf. Need to clean up.” 

“Allow me,” Geralt purred. Lambert yelped as he was plucked so effortlessly from where he clung onto the locker with shaking arms and then grunted as his back hit the bench in the middle. He knew better than to fight as Geralt took his hands and commanded him wordlessly to spread himself open. His own fingers gripped the meat of his ass as Geralt knelt down on the floor again like a supplicant at the alter.

“You sick fuck,” Lambert breathed, head flopping back as that hot tongue returned to his aching hole, “never - nngh - never change.” The only response was a quiet, rumbling growl of pleasure as Geralt feasted on the mess he’d made of the body he lusted over so readily.

The break room door opened quietly, and Eskel’s rumbling voice called from inside the kitchenette. “Got you some dessert for when you’ve finished the main course.” The locker room door was open, and the sight of Lambert splayed open for Geralt was easily visible from Eskel’s position at the cupboards. The half of Lambert’s brain that was still coherent wondered whether Eskel meant the orange bag of sandwiches he’d dumped on the side, or his cock.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even after all these years, Eskel is still surprised to find himself embroiled in this odd little polycule. He has his own crap to deal with, but he's reminded daily that he doesn't have to deal with it alone. 
> 
> A/N: Warnings here for drug use (for medicinal purposes).

Eskel woke in pain. It wasn't a dramatic, stabbing agony, but a dull, throbbing ache that he felt right to the back of his jaw. It always started near the corner of his eyes and webbed its way down to his chin until the whole right side of his face hummed. The shrink said half of it was in his head, while the other half was permanently damaged nerve endings. It would always feel worse in moments of anxiety.

A quick glance at the expensive digital alarm clock on the nightstand informed him it was 3am. The boiler would click on in a few hours, and he'd listen to it rumble like a huge beast in the belly of the apartment. Jaskier's place was one of those sprawling studio pads, with high ceilings and a mezzanine level for an arrogantly large bed. Jaskier needed it though, because it currently contained three men and one woman. For the most part they were wound together, Jaskier's head nestled beneath Eskel's arm, one of his legs draped over Geralt while Shani curled into Geralt's other side.

They'd lured her out after a few weeks of back to back shifts at the hospital. It'd taken three bottles of Bud and a round of shots for her to lighten up, and by the end of the night she was doing those shots off Eskel's chest at Jaskier's side. Their lusty nymph had then stolen her hand and pulled her into the crush of bodies on the dancefloor. Geralt and Eskel found them wrapped in each other in a private booth and… well, the night ended as it always did. In Jaskier's bed. There was one notable absence, but he was out on a camping trip with a new friend he'd met at the Rugby club. Lots of  _ camping _ activities going on, no doubt. Eskel smirked at the ceiling, and then his face spasmed. The pain went from a three to a five, and he gently untangled himself from his pile of lovers. 

His hand fell on his wallet, and he fumbled through until he found the pre-rolled joint he kept tucked away for such occasions. Jaskier didn't like the smell. Preferred his drugs to be a bit more… hmm, glitzy. So Eskel grabbed his boxers from the floor and headed out onto the balcony. It was late summer. The air still held that odour of evening BBQs and baked concrete despite the late hour, and Eskel breathed it in as he leaned on the steel railing. His lighter clicked and sputtered, before finally yielding a flame. The first drag burned down the back of his throat, and then burst back out his nose as he coughed.

The night was quiet. The sprawling suburbs before him devoid of traffic. A scruffy fox sped across the empty road after rummaging through an open box of recycling, and Eskel watched its progress until it disappeared into a back garden. All was peaceful and still, so he felt the presence at his back before the brush of lips studded in metal. "You should be asleep, you're opening tomorrow," Eskel rumbled, smoke billowing from his mouth in time with his words. Strong hands brushed over his back and around his stomach, kneading cheekily before stroking up to his chest. 

"It's already tomorrow," Geralt replied beatifically, his nose resting in the groove of Eskel's spine, "besides, I'm just following my boss' example."

"Have you never heard the phrase 'do as I say and not as I do'?" Eskel placed a hand over the back of Geralt's hand as it squeezed his pec.

"Hm, yeah, the same time as you." Geralt drew away and leaned his hip against the balcony railing. The hedonist hadn't even bothered with underwear, and Eskel's eyes travelled down the full, gloriously naked length of him. Geralt was stunning, his arms and torso a story of his life thus far rendered in black ink and silver metal. When a tattooed hand reached for his joint though, he lifted it out of reach with a quirked eyebrow.

"Always trying to mooch my weed," Eskel grumbled, lips twitching into a little smile.

"You've always had access to the best shit."

"It's my charm and easygoing nature."

"Sure it's not the fact that you look like someone's kindly uncle with the hair and the cable knit sweater? Only give the polite, middle class lad the good stuff so he recs his mates."

"I'll have you know, Jaskier told me that knit is back in fashion this season," Eskel said, taking another drag.

"The knit maybe, the hair went out in the nineties."

"If this is you trying to get a toke…"

Geralt grinned, leaning one elbow on the railing, he reached up and traced his fingers gently down the scars on Eskel's face. He was gentle, tracing the rough edges and tender grooves. "Stopped taking your meds again."

"They make me slow and forgetful." Eskel tried to tilt his face away in dismissal, but Geralt wouldn't have it. He cupped Eskel's chin and turned him back.

"They take some bedding in. GP told you that. Just gotta trust us to hold things down until they settle."

"Mm," Eskel rumbled. His gaze lifted to meet those mischievous baby blues and he sighed. This wasn't an argument he'd win. If Jaskier found out, then he'd be hounded every moment of every day until he was back on schedule. "I'll start them tomorrow."

"This morning."

"Tomorrow," Eskel pushed, and then took Geralt's chin himself. Any further argument silenced as he drew in a deep toke and pressed their mouths together. Geralt breathed in automatically, practiced; they'd been doing this since they were boys. And they’d never done it any other way. Foster home kids let loose on a London estate with nothing but time and a desire to piss off any and every authority they could manage. Eskel couldn't count the times that a well meaning Bobby had tried to scare them straight with a few hours in a custody suite. Eskel and Geralt used to drum the beat of In Too Deep on the walls to pass the time. 

Eskel tried to pull back when his lungs were empty, but Geralt didn't let him go. His nails bit into Eskel's shoulders, agitating the little kitten scratches left behind by Shani only a few hours before, and Eskel pushed forward into a kiss. The smoke billowed out Geralt's nose as he teased, naked hips swaying, rubbing his hardening cock across Eskel's clothed one. He nipped and chuckled, wiggled and clawed, until Eskel took him by the throat and shoved him into the cool glass of the balcony door. They melted together with soft sighs, each movement natural and instinctive as they touched another as familiar to them as their own body. They shared something that no one else could truly understand. When Eskel kissed Geralt, he felt it everywhere, electric and exciting. He broke away from Geralt's lips and pressed his mouth beneath his jaw, just above where his thumb pushed in. 

The soft haze provided by his smoke made Geralt all the more delicious beneath his mouth, and his hand slipped away from his neck to brace on the window instead. Geralt hummed in pleasure, hand dipping into his boxers to free Eskel's cock. It sat heavy and fat in his palm, fingers barely able to close around its girth as they coaxed it to full hardness. "What will the neighbours think?" Eskel whispered into Geralt's shoulder, hips rocking lazily into his grip.

"That you have a massive prick," Geralt growled back, finally aligning it with his own. They looked down between them and admired the contrast in silence. Pale white against Mediterranean olive. It was the height of summer, and while Eskel wasn't above sunbathing naked in the rooftop garden, his upper torso was still darker from going shirtless at every given opportunity, and Geralt couldn't resist the tease. "And you call me pasty." 

"You are. Bit of black nail polish and hair dye, fucking Marilyn Manson."

"He can suck his own dick, you know."

"So can anyone with a bit of yoga."

"Please start doing yoga." Geralt's eyes flashed in amusement.

"Why, when I've got your hungry mouth and hole to sate me." Eskel could feel the studs through Geralt's shaft against the satin softness of his own, and groaned quietly when Geralt shifted. "On your knees."

Geralt dropped immediately, the growl in Eskel's tone and the heat in his gaze too alluring to resist; he couldn't help but obey. Strong fingers pushed through his hair, gripping until his scalp prickled and his eyes fluttered with pleasure. The tip of Eskel's cock brushed his lower lip, leaving behind the taste of sex and salt that Geralt so craved, and his mouth fell open in request. "We were going for hours and it's never enough for you," Eskel whispered. It wasn't chastisement, but awe. 

Geralt smiled, mischievous and feral, and extended his tongue slowly. The barbel through the middle brushed gently across the delicate skin of Eskel's frenulum and he grunted, knees shaking. He stared down into those bright blue eyes, their pupils blown wide with pleasure, and felt breathless. Geralt's kink, his whole reason for being, was the pleasure of his lovers; in the bedroom, in life generally. It took time for him to warm, to trust, but once he had he was unquestioningly devoted. It had got him hurt in the past and Eskel had sworn to never let it happen again. Was it healthy? He didn't know. They probably both needed fucking therapy. But he couldn't deny Geralt. This was their life: Eskel weak before Geralt's baby blue eyes, Geralt desperate to please.

With a quiet curse, Eskel pushed into Geralt's eager mouth, cockhead sinking down his throat as he swallowed enthusiastically. Geralt wanted his nose buried in Eskel's dark curls, wanted to be smothered in the musk of him, and he strained his jaw, bruised his throat, to achieve it. Despite a well-trained gag reflex, Geralt spluttered. There was just so much of Eskel to fit. Didn’t stop him trying. "Hey," Eskel grated, voice hoarse, "take it slow. You know I don't like hurtin’ you."

Geralt's eyes flickered apologetically, and he allowed Eskel to ease him off. The grip in his hair remained firm; a constant, pleasant tingle that trickled down his neck and across his shoulders. Geralt tugged his own cock idly, more interested in the taste, smell and sound of Eskel's bliss than getting off. Eskel tilted his head back, taking another few drags from the joint in his other hand as Geralt’s head bobbed under his guidance. 

The smoke coiled from Eskel’s nostrils, and he allowed his eyes to slide closed as the pain faded into inconsequence. He stubbed the embers out and chucked the remains in the plant pot to be disposed of later, his focus drifting down to Geralt and the swelling pleasure of his mouth. Geralt’s jaw ached around the girth of him, saliva dripping over his lower lip, eyes watering, but still he needed more. He sucked and lapped as much as he could, swallowing in an attempt to get that fat, oversized cockhead choking him again.

"Can't do as you're told," Eskel growled, drawing out completely. He urged Geralt to his feet, and turned him with a gentle shove of the shoulder. Eskel’s fingers left Geralt’s hair to wrap lightly around the column of his throat, tips pressing into the ornate calligraphy of Jaskier’s name. His own slid down Geralt’s bicep to twine their fingers together, lifting until Geralt’s palm pressed into the cold glass of the patio door. “I love you,” Eskel whispered by Geralt’s ear, smiling gently into the pierced arch of it as Geralt sucked in a shocked breath. He was always so startled by the pleasure of those three simple words. Like he was hearing for the first time all over again.

With his lover pinned between him and the glass, Eskel took his time. He nosed gently through Geralt’s hair, allowing it to tickle across the sensitive scars on his face, and then pressed his mouth to his shoulder. Just above the bear paw on the back. Eskel’s paw. Geralt’s artwork all told a story. Every big event, every important person in his life, had earned a place on his skin. Whereas Jaskier had been delighted that Geralt had taken his demand to be somewhere loud and prominent to heart, Eskel much preferred the place he’d requested.

The tattoo was older, the black ink less prominent than some of the others. It sat near his heart, but Eskel had insisted it be on his back, because that was Eskel’s place. Watching Geralt’s back as Geralt did his. A loyal protector. Eskel placed soft kisses on every toe bean of the outline, and then in the very centre, the thrum of Geralt’s heart strong beneath his lips. Geralt squirmed in his grip, stilling only when Eskel rumbled irritably. “Just… let me enjoy you for a moment, alright?”

“Hm,” Geralt remarked, forehead resting on the cold glass. He pressed into the hand around his throat, chin again his own forearm, and cocked his hips back, trying to antagonise Eskel into  _ more _ , but Eskel was unaffected. The slow progress of his kisses continued across Geralt’s neck and shoulders, occasionally giving way to the brush of his nose as he breathed in the scent of Geralt’s skin. 

Hot, slow breaths gradually became more laboured pants of excitement, and Geralt grinned into his wrist. Eskel rocked his hips forward, sliding his spit-slick cock between Gerat’s thighs. Without lube, they couldn’t be vigorous and Geralt couldn’t grip too tightly, but he closed his legs just enough for Eskel to feel the brush of soft skin against his shaft.

“Geralt,” Eskel breathed, gripping Geralt’s fingers. Geralt’s balls were hot and heavy on top of his cock, his thighs soft but unyielding. The friction bordered on too much, but still Eskel chased it with a slow, easy rock of his hips. The pressure built and Eskel mouthed at Geralt’s neck, uncoordinated and hazy. Geralt’s thighs tightened, flipping the balance of control, and Eskel groaned in aching bliss as he was trapped between pulsing muscles, “ahh.”

“Inside?”

“We’ll wake Jaskier and Shani,” Eskel croaked.

“Lay on the bean bag.”

“Jaskier said if we come on it again, he’ll come on the upholstery in the Beemer.”

“I’ll talk him ‘round,” Geralt, who now had Eskel in his grasp, lowered their joined hands from the door and guided him back. He followed easily, his eyes a little unfocused and soft. When Geralt pulled their bodies together again, Eskel melted against him, grinding his thick chest across Geralt’s pierced nipples, rolling his hips in search of friction, his mouth lazy and hungry along Geralt’s neck. 

For his part, Geralt squeezed and kneaded at every delicious curve. Eskel’s body was firm, and big, and glorious. As his fingers pushed into the muscles of his ass, pulling their hips together as they bit and sucked at each other’s lips, Geralt decided to adjust the plan. He asked Eskel’s thoughts with a few pointed squeezes of his backside, and his reply was a quiet huff and cant of the hips. Eskel might play act at reluctance, but his cock flicked and drooled against Geralt’s hip, betraying his delight.

They tiptoed across the upper floor and Geralt gave Eskel a few gentle shoves until he flopped onto the bean bag as directed. The material  _ poofed  _ softly as Eskel’s weight hit it, but the seams held. The last one had burst after a particularly athletic session, and Geralt hadn’t been able to contain his laugh at all the white, polystyrene balls clinging to Eskel’s crotch. The ‘having it off with a snowman’ jokes hadn’t gone away for some time. 

Eskel sprawled on his front, thick arms curling around the bag with a quiet rumble of contentment as he pushed his mouth into the material. It was difficult to stay quiet when speared open on Geralt’s cock, but he’d make a small effort for the sake of Jaskier’s beauty sleep (and Shani’s sanity). 

Geralt grabbed the lube from the nightstand and then knelt down between Eskel’s legs. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” Eskel huffed, eyes closed as he tilted his hips up expectantly.

“Now who’s impatient,” Geralt leaned forward and nipped an ass cheek, causing Eskel to startle with a quiet grunt, “knees a little higher.” A decade or so ago there was no way Eskel would so easily relax in this way; he’d been guarded, perhaps passing as timid sometimes, with hang ups about his looks, his body. It’d taken Jaskier and Geralt years or worshipping him, even when he enjoyed his double chocolate lattes and mince pies over Christmas, to make him realise they loved him in every way. He was a big guy; muscular, proportionately thick everywhere else, and  _ beautiful _ . A fact that Geralt was once more reminded of as he admired the display before him.

Geralt stroked Eskel’s thighs first, fingers teasing through dark hair until they finished in the warmth of his cleft. He leaned forward to retrace the path of his hand with gentle kisses, and smiled when Eskel squirmed impatiently. He breathed Eskel’s own words against his skin - “let me enjoy you for a moment, alright?” - and received a baleful glance. It melted into boss-eyed bliss the moment his fingers circled the soft, sensitive skin of his rim, and Eskel’s shoulders shed the few coils of self-conscious tension. Geralt worked his fingers in and out slowly; he liked the sight of glistening skin stretching, the quiver of Eskel’s flanks whenever Geralt’s fingertips brushed over the right spot.

“Geralt,” Eskel whispered, hoarse and shivering. It wasn’t a plea to escalate, he liked the slow torture of Geralt working him open, was probably leaking a mess into the soft fabric of the bean bag beneath him, but it was a plea for closeness. To feel Geralt sprawled over him. Geralt knelt up to run his other hand up and down the contours of Eskel’s back, buried his fingers in fluffy black hair, and raked his fingers lightly down his neck. When he got lower, he circled his fingers in the little dimples at the base of Eskel’s spine. He didn’t realise he was whispering praise until Eskel vibrated with a quiet chuckle.

Geralt huffed, pulling his fingers out. “Just for that, you’re gonna’ work for it.”

“Oh, but I just wanted to lounge here like a pillow princess,” Eskel groaned, ass flexing, puckered hole ashine and just begging, “huh, or princess of the bean bag.” 

“You’re such a dork,” Geralt whispered, and then slapped a round ass cheek. “Up. Want to watch your face while we fuck.”

There was much grumbling as they shifted positions. Geralt slumped into the bean bag, rather pleased by the path of wet warmth Eskel had left behind. He stroked his cock slowly as Eskel straddled his thighs, one hand braced on Geralt’s chest for balance. Those strong thighs flexed as he crouched into position and Geralt held his cock in position until Eskel sank down. They both groaned quietly, Geralt’s head flopping back as Eskel’s chin tilted down to his chest. “Oh, fuck, that - ,” he grunted, palm set on Geralt’s knee behind him as he rocked his hips. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Geralt said, voice taut as Eskel’s body clenched around him with pleasure; the prince albert in the tip of his cock had found Eskel’s prostate. Hazel eyes rolled, his chiseled jaw went slack and pre’ welled out the tip of his prick. 

Geralt reached up to squeeze Eskel’s chest, thumbs teasing around the hard nubs of his nipples, before raking his nails down his stomach to his hips. Eskel had little rolls just above his hips; squish that Geralt liked to bite and nip, but now he grabbed them with an appreciative little growl as Eskel bounced a little faster. His grunts and moans grew louder, Geralt’s name breaking free in broken pants, when Geralt took hold of the fat cock flopping over his stomach. 

Eskel was so lost in the feeling of the thick cock inside him, the spikes of pleasure rocketing up his spine with each circle of his hips, that he didn’t realise Jaskier was there until a slender hand cupped beneath his chin. He stood at Eskel’s back between Geralt’s splayed knees, the scene before him too delicious to ignore. Eskel slowed, grinding down onto Geralt’s cock with a low moan, as Jaskier tilted his head back against his heavily furred chest. 

The kiss was slow and sultry; Jaskier lapped into Eskel’s mouth and nipped at his lips, his free hand dropping to pinch and squeeze a thick pec. When they parted, breath still mingling, Jaskier smiled. “You’re so handsome, my dear. So lovely. I want to be inside you too, with Geralt. Can I do that?”

Eskel groaned at the thought, hips bucking as Geralt squeezed his prick. “Fuck, yeah… yeah, I want that.”

“Yes?” Jaskier stroked his chin, slipping a finger up into the unscarred corner of his mouth to tug at his lips to move his head. He liked it when Eskel exposed his most vulnerable side - scarred and hurting - to his care, and he placed gentle kisses on the raised lines of them. Eskel’s tongue lapped and lolled, eyes hazy. “As rancid as that awful crap smells, I do so love how relaxed it makes you. Lean forward, love.” 

Eskel leaned onto Geralt’s chest and fell into a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. He gasped into Geralt’s mouth as Jaskier’s fingers circled his stretched rim, teasing sensitive flesh by rolling over one of Geralt’s piercings beneath it.  _ “Jaskier, _ ” Eskel pleaded, his teeth clenching. Geralt gathered his head against his shoulder, and reached down to tug one of his thighs a little higher. It opened him more, Geralt rocking his hips up slowly to slide his cock in a little deeper; he was putting Eskel on display for Jaskier to admire the way his body, as strong and infallible as it was, spread open so easily around Geralt’s cock. 

Jaskier glanced back towards the bed where two bright eyes watched them from within a wrap of soft cotton sheets. Shani had declined to join, citing a headache and beer breath as deal breakers for more sex; Jaskier offered her a little wink as he spread lube down his length and lined up with Eskel’s hole. It took a little bit of teasing, head circling over his rim, before Jaskier gently eased inside. He held Geralt’s gaze the whole time, watched his pupils blow just a fraction wider as he felt Eskel sob against him. 

They’d shared Eskel like this for years. Like an expensive wine that only got better as he matured that you sipped decadently from the bottle. When Eskel reached his limit, when he was overwhelmed with sensation and at their mercy, he sobbed in the moments before he let go. Geralt nuzzled a kiss against the side of his head, whispered sweet nothings, and felt Eskel relax against him. Jaskier pressed his palm into the centre of Eskel’s back, fingers pushing into sweat-sheened muscle as he pushed deeper. 

When Eskel tensed, big hands clenching against the taut canvas of the bag beneath them, Jaskier paused to add more lube. His thumb massaged around Eskel’s taut rim again to soothe him, before slowly easing back inside. Jaskier gnawed on his lower lip, the heels of his hand kneading Eskel’s bountiful ass apart so that he could watch his cock as it joined Geralt deep inside their shared love.

Geralt held Eskel’s face to his neck, fingers bound through his hair, and met Jaskier’s gaze over his shoulder. They shared the high without a word; the dizzying euphoria of taking Eskel apart together. Jaskier looked at his most beautiful in these moments. Usually neat hair mussed and unkempt, his smile free and drunk with sex, but his eyes were the most enchanting feature of all. They were always bright, full of life and mischief, but now they were lended an ethereal glow by the pleasure of taking a lover and the soft orange of early morning light pouring in through the patio doors. 

Geralt smiled into the cherub lips that alighted upon his, teasing with the nip of teeth, before allowing the kiss to deepen; he swallowed the quiet, sultry moan that spilled into his mouth. They held Eskel together. Jaskier draped himself over his back, kissing the traces left by Shani’s nails, and ground his hips in slow, easy rolls.

Eskel was soon incoherent, his breathing ragged. All he could do was cling on, fingernails biting into canvas as he panted against Geralt’s neck. The burning stretch of two cocks, the slick grind of sweaty skin, and the whispered words of adoration and praise enough to send him mindless with need. He had no control over the reactions of his body, of the deep moans that and garbled pleas that fell from his mouth, nor the orgasm that built quickly and spilled over Geralt’s stomach. Eskel’s back arched, hole clenching around the thick lengths buried deep, and Jaskier sucked a bruise into his shoulder as he continued to grind into him. 

Geralt came next, arms wrapping around Eskel to pull him down, stimulating the rings through his nipples against Eskel’s chest with a bitten off growl. Jaskier drew out slowly, tugging Geralt’s cock with him, and admired Eskel’s gaping hole. Cum leaked out over swollen skin and Jaskier rubbed his thumb through it as he fucked into his own hand. He tilted his head back and locked eyes with Shani. She’d watched them from the bed, one hand between her thighs, her plush, kiss-bitten lower lip between her teeth. She shuddered quietly through her climax and watching their innocent little vixen shake apart was enough to tease out Jaskier’s orgasm. He spilled over Eskel’s cleft, watched it drip over his rim and join the mess Geralt had left, and then slumped forward with a spent groan. 

Geralt petted Eskel’s hair as he stared into Jaskier’s lidded eyes. They communicated so much without talking; quirks of the lip, twitches of the eyebrow, and then finally a gentle nose bump before Jaskier stood up on shaky legs. “Shower, then breakfast,” he proclaimed to the room, “then I’ll… have to rearrange my ten o’clock.”

Eskel squinted and then pushed up from Geralt’s chest. “Why?” He was still well inside his afterglow, body aching, and was reluctant to leave it.

“I feel today is an Eskel day,” Jaskier swept his hands as if he addressed a great audience. “I shall shower you, feed you, sketch you, sing to you - .”

“This is your doing,” Eskel glowered down at Geralt, who offered only two raised eyebrows and a tight-lipped little smirk. “I’ll get my own back.” He tilted his head towards Shani, hoping for at least a scowl of solidarity, but received the same cheeky little smile.  _ They were all out to get him.  _

“- we shall go have lunch at that lovely little patisserie - .”

“You should take your meds,” Geralt whispered, “I’ll set him on you every day until you do.”

“- perhaps I’ll take you ‘round the office, actually. They’re rather fond of you, well, your body, they’re shallow like that, you see. They don’t see what  _ I  _ see - .”

“You’re a sadist,” Eskel growled, and then rolled off onto the floor. He didn’t bother standing, just sprawled out on the rug on his back, his stomach and ass a mess. “Jaskier,” he cut their verbose fashionista off mid-flow, “how about we stay in, watch the Lord of the Rings extended editions, and eat junk food.”

Jaskier planted his hands in his hips, brow set reproachfully. “How pedestrian.”

“I am pedestrian,” Eskel groaned, only to be set upon moments later by their lithe otter, hands planted on his chest, softened cock against his stomach.

“You undersell yourself, my dear.”

“Hmm.”

“Lord of the Rings marathon plus patisserie visit.”

“Deal.”

“Very good,” Jaskier bounced towards the bed to scoop Shani up in his arms. “Into the shower, Geralt. I believe the calendar says you’re opening this morning.”

Geralt rolled off the bean bag onto Eskel, licked a long strip up the left side of his face just to be a git, and then padded after Jaskier to wash their evening’s activities away. Eskel stayed on the rug and stared at the ceiling, yet again thoroughly confused as to how he ended up with so many people that loved him. 


End file.
